


whenever you're down and out and your heart's filled out i will guide you through

by Anonymous



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery, Seasonal Affective Disorder, over use of commas, there's really no timeline ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 15:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13251549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Mitch Marner could be considered a lightbulb type of person.He shines bright in the darkest times, he hurts a bit in the morning, and will help you out when needed most, but even light bulbs burn out.





	whenever you're down and out and your heart's filled out i will guide you through

**Author's Note:**

> If you recognize yourself, or anybody else in this work of fiction, please click away and save us both the embarrassment! 
> 
> This is the longest work I've written so far, and it deals with seasonal affective disorder. Last year I was diagnosed with it, and this winter has been hard. Thanks to Mitch for giving me an outlet. 
> 
> This is unbeta'd and if you notice anything that I didn't just comment, maybe?? idk tbh
> 
> See endnotes for triggers/warnings and some extras. 
> 
> Title comes from 'Sleep' by I Will, I Swear

Mitch Marner could be considered a lightbulb type of person. 

 

He shines bright in the darkest times, he hurts a bit in the morning, and will help you out when needed most, but even light bulbs burn out.

 

They’re at home and they just won. It was a close call in OT, granted, but it was still a win. Everyone is buzzing in the locker room, and there’s a smile on Mitch’s face, but he can feel himself fading. He returns pats on the back, and claps after a sloppy speech from Mo, then quickly heads off to shower. 

 

He turns the water as hot as it’ll go and steps in, though he hardly feels himself scrubbing down his body and rinsing the soap and sweat out of his hair. He’s doing up his belt when he questions if he even showered in the first place when Marty calls;

 

“Looking a little red, eh, Mitchy?”

 

He looks at his arms, and yes, they are red. In fact, Mitch looks at his chest as well and realizes he probably looks like he just spent a week in the sun without sunscreen. 

 

Mitch turns back towards Marty and gives him a shrug and a small smile like he doesn’t know why he’s so fucking red. Marty doesn’t need to know he almost burnt himself in the shower, trying to calm the pain that was flaring up in his muscles, in his bones. He starts to dress faster. 

 

His hands and fingers are starting to shake while he does up his tie, when Naz announces their part destination for the night, Gards adding that first round is on Naz because he scored the game winner. 

 

They bicker and get into a shoving match in the middle of the room, Mitch figures this is the best time to sneak out. He’ll text Mo condolences for not showing up in a couple hours—if he remembers—but before he can get more than five steps out of the door, there’s a hand on his elbow and he’s spinning to face his follower. It’s Matts. 

 

He’s got kind of crinkled and confused forehead lines going on. He’s going to be one wrinkly old man if he keeps this up. 

 

“Where you off to, Marns?” He asks. His hand hasn’t left Mitch’s elbow. It’s kind of steadying. 

 

“Tired,” Mitch says with a shrug, “‘m gonna head home and lay low tonight.” And for the next few days because it’s Friday now, and their next game isn’t until Tuesday, and Mitch can’t even fathom doing anything in that time. 

 

Auston considers him a second. Mitch isn’t the mood for a fight, not tonight, he’ll probably cry if Auston even tries to convince him to go out with them. Thankfully, Auston gives him a nod and squeezes his elbow. 

 

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says, “text me, alright?”

 

Mitch nods and takes a few steps back when Auston’s grip on him loosens, and after a mock salute, he is turned around and heading back to the packing lot to find his car.

 

 

—-

 

 

When he gets home, he kicks off his dress shoes in the front foyer, tosses his keys on the counter and heads straight to his bedroom. He know he’s going to regret not grabbing a water bottle, but that’s for a later time. Instead he strips out of his suit, dropping everything in a pile at the end of the bed, and exchanges the pieces for ratty Knights sweats, and a hoodie that was hung up on the closet handle. It’s big, and it hangs off his frame, but he really could not give less of a shit. 

 

He turns his phone off completely and tosses it somewhere on his bed, to get lost in the sea of sheets. When he loses sight of it, the constrictions of his chest lessen a little bit. 

 

He flicks the AC on, and though it’s winter, he knows he’ll feel like he’s suffocating in these clothes if the room is too warm. Next he crawls under the covers and pulls his laptop up beside himself. He’ll be asleep in minutes, but he’s learned that listening to the voices of the people from How It’s Made is a great way to put himself under. Plus, the airline food and pre-packaged sandwich ones are totally the best ones. 

 

The laptop is set up beside him, like a lover, brightness turned down until it doesn’t hurt his eyes anymore and he listens to the magic lady talk about cold cuts and grated cheese until his eyes feel too itchy to keep open, so he fades into darkness and lets a restless sleep take over. 

 

He wakes up every few hours; sprinkles, paperweights, bricks and carved candles greet him. 

 

The clock on his laptop says 5:48 a.m. the next time he wakes up. His ears are freezing, his mouth is dry and he might need to take a piss, but he doesn’t feel ready to leave hie bed yet, so he changes How It’s Made to some chill music playlist. He props his laptop open on his nightstand, and readjusts his sleeping position, his locked shoulders thanking him. 

 

He tries to fall asleep again, but everything in the universe feels like it’s been shifted inches to the left. First his pant legs feel stuck to the sheets to he kicks them off underneath, and almost sighs at the feeling of his bare legs against the soft material. Next is the hoodie, that seems to be choking him. He doesn’t want to sit up, so it’s ungracefully pulled over hie head and tossed beside him. Finally he slams his laptop shut, holds the hoodie as if it were the blanket he used to treasure as a kid, and he’s finally drifting to sleep again. 

 

The next time he wakes up, it’s not his fault. 

 

It’s bright in the room, and there’s a voice calling his name across the apartment. His door is closed, so the sound is muffled, and he’s not sure who it really is, but he’s hoping if he fakes asleep like he used to when he was younger, they’ll just go home and leave him alone. 

 

Faking sleep almost turns to really being asleep, when Matts’ voice snaps him back to reality.

 

“Marns?”

 

Mitch lets out a quiet groan in response, and tries to burrow further into the bed. 

 

“Dude, it’s almost two, what are you still doing in bed?” He asks. 

 

Twelve to two, a new record, Mitch thinks, but, really, back to Auston. 

 

Mitch gave Auston a key following a late night mistake where Mitch left his house keys on his kitchen table, and Auston and him had to wait in the hall, on the floor, in their game day suits for his landlord to show up and let him in. He probably should just keep all his keys on one keychain, but Auston comes over enough him getting a key made was just for future convenience. This is not future convenience.

 

Mitch can almost place the emotion his voice is lathered with, when he drops another question, “and why the fuck is it so cold?”

 

Mitch shrugs under the blankets, still to bright to open his eyes, and still no question worthy of speaking. Then there’s a shadow blocking the light, and he peeks one eye open to look up at Auston, who is looking down at him, again with his forehead lines. 

 

“Are you alright?” He asks. He looks serious, but Mitch is cold, so he tugs the comforter up around his shoulder and closes his eyes again, nodding in response. 

 

“‘m just tired,” he more or less croaks. 

 

“Dude, what time did you go to bed?” Auston asks, sounding amused, “and I thought you said you’d text me.”

 

“Lost my phone,” Mitch says quietly. He wasn’t aiming for a whisper, but that’s all that’s coming out. 

 

He can feel the bed dip beside his head when Auston sits down. 

 

“Okay, and when did you go to sleep? Did you go party without us?” He asks, still sounding amused. Mitch would bet good money he’s got that dumb smile on his face right now. 

 

“Didn’t go party,” Mitch says, fingers playing with the strings of the hoodie he hasn’t let go. “Came home and slept, like I told you.”

 

“Dude, that’s like almost fourteen hours,” Auston says, amusement gone, concern replacing it. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

 

Mitch nods again, but he wish he hadn’t. He wish he could tell Auston that this happens in the winter months, when all his energy is drained, so drained he barely has enough energy to sleep. And that when he was in high school, he used to miss weeks a year, because he’d feel so sick and tired he couldn’t leave his room. His parents thought he grew out of it, but really he didn’t have time to sleep it off anymore, instead he’d stumble through games, and spend his nights in a hotel heaving over the toilet bowl while he told his roomie he just pushed himself too hard that night. 

 

He wishes he could tell Auston these things, but Mitch hardly believes these things himself. Plus, Auston’s like the hockey saviour of Toronto. He doesn’t need his teammates shitty issues on his mind too. 

 

Instead he says, “I’m good, Matts. I mean, when am I not?”

 

Maybe he took too long to respond, or maybe all of Auston’s awkwardness was made up for in people reading skills, because instead of saying anything, he slides down so he’s laying beside Mitch and pushes his hair back, out of his forehead, like his mom used to. 

 

“It’s okay to not be okay, you know that, right Mitch?”

 

Mitch’s lip quivers when he says that, and he can’t think of anything to say in response, so he sighs deeply instead, breath hitching on intake. He doesn’t want Auston to see him cry, so he turns onto his other side, back to the man. 

 

“Can I stay, Marns?” He asks next, ignoring the fact that Mitch is now ignoring him. His lip quivers harder this time, and he feels a tear escape his eye and hit the pillow case. He’s sure if he were to speak right now, he’d be a gross mess, but he wants Auston to stay, so he nods again. 

 

The mattress shifts again and Auston’s weight is gone. Mitch’s heart breaks, and now the tears are flowing more constantly, but he hears dressers shutting behind him, and now he’s way too scared to turn around to look. 

 

Before he can stress too hard, Auston is slipping under the covers behind him, whispering this time, “Marns, I think you’re cuddling my hoodie.”

 

That definitely makes more sense, so Mitch lets out a wet laugh. 

 

“Sorry,” he says. He can’t tell if Auston can tell he’s been crying, so he pulls the hoodie over his shoulder and blindly shoves it in Auston’s direction. 

 

Auston pushes it back to him, and wraps Mitch’s arm around it, gripping his hand with his own before intertwining their fingers loosely, giving Mitch plenty of options to escape this. Mitch’s heart starts to feel more steady again, and he’s sure he’s starting to drift to sleep again, so instead of letting go of Auston’s hand, he moves back until his freezing shoulders and cold back are pushed against Auston’s own warm chest. 

 

Auston adjusts to accommodate them both, then presses a kiss to the top of Mitch’s head, finally responding to Mitch’s unnecessary apology. 

 

“You’re good, Marns, you’re so good.”

 

 

—

 

 

The next time Mitch wakes up, Auston’s prodding at his back. 

 

He sucks in a huge breath of air, and Auston takes this as a sign he’s awake. 

 

“Marns, buddy,” he says, “you should get up and eat or at least drink something.”

 

Mitch turns around to face him, eyes squinting as he looks at Auston. The room is dark again, which means the sun must be setting by now. He wonders how long Auston laid in bed with him. 

 

“Not hungry,” Mitch says. His mouth is still so dry, though, he’ll give him that. 

 

“Just toast, okay?” Auston says, then he’s rolling out of bed and holding out a hand to help Mitch up. 

 

Mitch takes his hand, and his bones feel like they’re creaking as he sits up. He swings his legs over the side of the mattress and lets his head stop spinning before he finally stands, Auston’s hand back on his elbow as he sways and his knees make a gross popping noise. 

 

He realizes he’s basically naked beside his boxers, the same time he realizes how cold his room is. He pulls the hoodie on quickly, and runs a hand over his face, inhaling deeply again, while he nods in the general direction of the thermostat. Auston must get the message because the hum of the AC quiets quickly. 

 

Mitch follows Auston wordlessly to his kitchen, pulling himself up on the counter to take watch of this toast making business, accepting the gatorade shoved into his hands. He downs half the bottle in one go, ignoring the churn of his stomach. He hasn’t eaten since last night, and yet he still feels so full. 

 

Auston’s got his lips shut, like he’s stopping himself from asking Mitch more questions. Mitch pretty much knows what those questions will entail, but he’s not in the mood to answer anything, but he is in the mood for more How It’s Made. He holds one finger up in Auston’s direction, hoping he gets his ‘one minute’ signal, as he slides back off the counter and into his room to pick up his laptop. His phone is beside it, and he supposes he should turn it back on, but even the thought of that right now makes it feel like he’ll be spewing Cool Blue over this room in seconds. Instead, he swallows hard and heads back out to the kitchen. 

 

Comings back, this is his first real glance at Auston. At some point he must’ve pulled on one of Mitch’s shirts in attempt to escape the cold. It’s tight pretty much everywhere, but it’s almost comedic the way he looks like he’s going to burst from the seams when he reaches up to a high shelf to grab a plate. 

 

Mitch is quiet while Auston butters the toast, and—this asshole—cuts off the crust for him. When Auston turns to face him, plate in hand, Mitch nods towards the living room and sets off, Auston following. 

 

He’s not even sure why he bought a leather couch in the first place. It’s gross to sit down on, in the summer or the winter, when your skin sticks and makes that gross tearing noise when you try to get up, then there's the fact that no blanket in the history of the world will even stay on the couch because it's so damn slippery. At least it’s easy to clean, he thinks. He's not sure when his leather couch will see some massive orgy take place on it, but let it be known, it’ll be an easy clean up of all those bodily fluids. 

 

They sit side by side, a blanket over their legs. Auston hands him the plate, like he's expecting him to eat his toast, so he takes a small bite and chews, probably more than necessary, while he tries to convince himself to swallow it. He literally feels like he just spent hours at a buffet shoving food down his throat, anymore and he’ll explode.

 

He swallows hard, and he doesn't explode.

 

Auston gives him a look to continue, but instead Mitch puts the toast on the glass table in front of him, and pulls his laptop on his lap. When he opens it, the chill beats from earlier start playing, but he quickly changes it to another How It’s Made video. 

 

“Rubber bands,” he says, leaning his head on Auston’s shoulder when he puts the laptop between them. “This is one of my favourites.”

 

And Auston is sweet about it, he really is. He sits there with Mitch and watches all these weird stuff get made. Mitch notices a particular interest in the one about decorative candles, but he gets it, that shit is smooth as fuck. 

 

After awhile, Auston turns to him.

 

“Are we going to talk about this? Or are you just going to do the thing where you pretend like you have no fucking clue what I’m talking about, like when you pulled that shit with Brownie?”

 

Mitch wouldn't really consider filling Connor Brown’s gloves with baby powder, ‘pulling that shit’, but sure, he’ll bite. 

 

“What is there to talk about?” He asks, queuing up the next video. 

 

“Dude, you slept like seventeen hours, and now you’re not even eating, that’s what we need to talk about.”

 

“To be fair,” Mitch says, staring at his fingers on the keyboard, “the toast is kind of burnt, and that’s nasty, Matts.”

 

He’s not even sure how Auston burnt the toast. Mitch put actual studies and time into finding the perfect time on his toaster. If Auston fucked with that knob, Mitch is gonna kill him. Or just get passive and burn all of Auston’s toast from now on. 

 

Auston sighs heavily beside him, and Mitch is too scared to look. 

 

Instead he adds, “I was just tired.”

 

“Mitch, napping after a game is tired. Sleeping nine hours is tired. Drinking coffee to keep your eyes awake is tired.” Auston says. “Sleeping the day away, after a full nights rest isn’t even exhaustion, Mitch. It’s sickness, it’s something wrong. What’s up?”

 

Mitch opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. The timer on his laptop is counting down before the next video starts, and he wants to be anywhere but here. He knows Auston will be good about it, but he doesn’t want to admit his own issues, and even if he did, where would he start? It’s like climbing a glass mountain. One slippery slope, and you can’t find a place to put your picks in and start in the first place. 

 

“Mitch, you know you can tell me anything right?” Auston asks.

 

Mitch nods. They kind of passed the point of awkward stage when Mitch had very loudly and ungracefully barged in on Auston taking a video of himself jerking off for some internet lover. He’d asked who the lucky person was before Auston yelled at him to get out of the room. Mitch never found out who, but Auston let his guard down. Once you’ve seen a man’s dick in action, truly there is nothing stopping a full blown friendship from blooming. 

 

When Mitch doesn’t talk, he hears Auston sigh again, and then he feels a hand on his back. Auston is rubbing small, comforting circles on his back while he talks. 

 

“Seriously, Mitchy, this shit is going to drag you down if it hasn’t already. You need to talk to people, and if it’s not me, there are people hired and sitting in offices just waiting for a player on the Maple Leafs to walk in there. They’ll listen, Marns. Don’t think you’re alone.”

 

And yeah, he gets that there are professionals out there, but Mitch doesn’t want a professional. He doesn’t want to be diagnosed or whatever. He’s been dealing and coping on his own long enough, no reason to change that. 

 

Auston might be psychic, or a mind reader or something, or maybe Mitch just said all of that out loud because next he says;

 

“Mitch you’re not coping. Spending hours in bed, losing your appetite, dude you’re running a losing race.”

 

Mitch shrugs again, “what else do you do when you’re tired, but sleep?”

 

“So that’s all this is?” Auston asks, “you’re tired?”

 

“Yeah, it happens in the winters. Fucking hockey, parties, workouts, holidays,” Mitch says, giving in. He closes his laptop and puts it up beside his disregarded toast. “It’s exhausting.”

 

“You’re doing that all year round, Mitch,” Auston says, taking back his hand, Mitch missing the weight of it immediately. He turns on the couch to face him, but Mitch’s eyes are still on his knees in front of him. “Is it only in the winter?”

 

“I guess,” he mumbles. He hasn’t ever thought about it like that. He’s rushed in the summers too, and the springs and the falls, but it’s only near the end of fall, beginning of winter when shit really hits the fan. 

 

There’s a beat before Auston speaks again. 

 

“How long?”

 

The answer is almost immediate, but Mitch is unsure of it. 

 

“Eighth or ninth grade.”

 

“What did your mom do?” Auston asks.

 

It’s definetly not her fault Mitch has this fucked up body schedule. “She was sweet,” he says, “she let me stay home for sick days, and tried to give me soup to eat. They just thought I’d get a week long flu.”

 

“A week?” Auston asks, surprised, “you’d spend a week asleep?”

 

Mitch snorts and shakes his head, “I’m no sleeping beauty, Aus. It’d be more of a fading in and out of consciousness and watching a television show as background noise, not taking in any of the plot. Freaks and Geeks is still good the seventh time around.”

 

Auston makes a noise, happy or not, Mitch couldn’t tell you. 

 

“When did it happen last? Y’know, one of these… spells?”

 

Mitch shrugs. This is the first he remembers of this season. Sure, he was felt about ten inches to the left a couple days, but it never really hit him like this. 

 

“Sometime last February, I think,” he says, because that’s really the last time he remembers. Well, kind of. 

 

He remembers coming back to the room feeling hot a sick, and then spending the night after the game on a towel pile, in his game day suit, on the bathroom floor, until Zach came to the room and brought him some clothes. 

 

Zach was nice about it. He accepted the food poisoning excuse easily, brought him his clothes andbrought Mitch water too. He also had put a cold washcloth around his neck when he came back later to check on him. He tried to get Mitch into bed, but listened when he came back with the ‘dude, it’ll stink if I puke out there’. He brought him pillows instead, and, no fucking joke, tucked sheets around a shivering Mitch. 

 

He must’ve told Mo too, because he wouldn’t get that look on the plane back home the next morning for nothing. 

 

Auston must be thinking back because he then asks, “like, food poisoning in Philly?”

 

Mitch nods, because, yeah, that’s it. 

 

“Zach’s a good guy,” he says, and thinking about it, he kind of misses the guy. They should probably get lunch sometime. 

 

Sometime _definetly_ later because the thought of lunch now makes Mitch’s stomach churn. Auston must see him pale, and tries to rub small circles on his back to coax him out of it. It’s probably the toast, or maybe just the stress of this entire conversation, but seconds later he’s off the couch and into the bathroom, dry heaving into the toilet while Auston stands behind him. 

 

Nothing comes out. Not even that damn toast. Instead he just spits into the bowl and slides down the wall behind him, just to let his heart stop beating so fast. 

 

“No more toast, Matts,” he says with a quick laugh. His hand moves to rub away the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. 

 

Auston makes some sort of noise of agreement and takes his seat beside him. 

 

“D’ya ever get sick?” He asks, voice small. 

 

“Only when I can’t sleep it off,” he replies, letting his exhausted form rest against Auston’s sturdiness. 

 

He thinks he hears Auston say something, but he’s already drifting off again before he can make out exactly what it was. 

 

It couldn’t have been long before Auston was nudging him awake, again. 

 

“Marns,” he says, jostling a little. “Marns, you’re going to get stiff if you sleep here any longer.”

 

Mitch opens his eyes, and takes the hand offered to him, standing up slowly, Auston keeping him steady the whole time. 

 

“How long was I asleep for?”

 

Auston shrugged, “Not very,” he says. “Just wanted to be sure you weren’t going to get sick again.”

 

Auston tugs him out of the bathroom and into his room. He’s still mostly naked, but now Auston was tossing the pair of sweats he wore earlier his way. While Mitch pulls them on while he watches Auston redress in the jeans and crewneck he must’ve showed up in. He loses concentration of the situation for a moment, then something hits him in the side of the head. 

 

He peels his gaze away from the wall now, and looks down to the pair of socks now sitting beside him. 

 

When he looks back up to find Auston, the other boy is biting his lip to keep him from smiling too wide. 

 

Mitch lets out a small laugh, “you’re a shit, y’know that Matts?”

 

Auston looks happy to know that Mitch hasn’t lost his sense of humour. 

 

Mitch shakes his head, a smile finding its way onto his face, and pulls on the socks. 

 

When Auston decides him ready, he grabs his hand again and brings him to the foyer. Mitch isn’t sure why he hasn’t asked where they’re going yet, but maybe it’s just because he trusts Auston enough not to do anything dumb. Or maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to fight it. Fresh air was always nice anyways. 

 

He pulls on the jacket handed to him, and lets Auston wrap a scarf around his neck what seems to have been a million times, then finally a touque is added to the mix. He’s not wearing anything under the hoodie, so it’s not as many layers as he usually has, but he still feels like he’s going to burn alive if he stays any longer in the apartment. 

 

“Hey, Aus,” he says, back pressed to the door to keep himself up. “How cold is it out?”

 

Auston shrugs and pulls his own keys out of his coat pocket, he opens his mouth to say something, but before he can Mitch interrupts him. 

 

“In Celsius, please.”

 

Auston rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone anyways, “it’s like minus twelve.”

 

Mitch lets out another laugh, half because of how prepared Auston got him for such a mild temperature, and half because Auston’s company is making his mood go up. In a time like this, he’s starting to realize how much Auston grounds him. 

 

The walk to the visitors lot is quiet, but comfortable. Mitch still isn’t sure where they’re going. When they get in the car Auston blasts the heat, and Mitch is forced to remove the scarf and the hat, tossing them in the back seat. 

 

“Are you trying to smoke me out, or something, Aus?”

 

Auston only huffed and pulled out of the lot, “it’s cold, Marns.”

 

Mitch only snorted at that, and sunk further into the seat. It was completely dark now, but it couldn’t be that late in the evening now, unless Mitch’s sense of time was totally and completely fucked. Winters always made the day feel too short. 

 

“Hey,” Auston says, a couple minutes later. “How’s your stomach feeling?”

 

“Fine,” Mitch answered with a hum. “Better.”

 

“So, do you want Tims?”

 

Mitch sat back up, and yeah, Auston was pulling into the Tims parking lot, headed straight for the drive thru. 

 

“Hot chocolate?” He asks, and now it was Auston’s turn to laugh. 

 

“What about being cold now?” 

 

“Auston, this is a quintessential Canadian kid treat,” Mitch argues, pulling the sleeves back over his hands. Maybe it was a little cold. “Medium, please.”

 

Auston, who orders a large two milk for himself, obliges and orders Mitch his medium hot chocolate, however when the drinks were actually in the vehicle with them, Mitch felt his stomach twinge again. 

 

He fiddles with the lid, then sinks back down in his seat. He really didn’t want to ruin Auston’s interior with his puke. If Auston notices him doing it, he sure doesn’t say anything. Instead he sips his own coffee and makes the noises a dad in his fifties would about bitter coffee. Like a weird, gulping, ‘ahh’ sound. Mitch is even a little disgusted by that. 

 

Mitch watches the city skyline transform out of the window. It never seizes to amaze him how big Toronto is. Sometimes his heart skips a beat when he remembers this is his city, and he’s here to stay. 

 

He keeps staring out the window, as it helps with the motion sickness he feels coming on, but everything starts to become a little too familiar. 

 

“Hey, Aus,” he says, “why are we heading to the practice arena? I’m not up to skate, if that’s what you were thinking.”

 

Auston stays quiet, and flicks on the radio instead. Mitch watches him from his seat, and everything only seems to get more and more suspicious. His stomach is turning again, only this time in fear. By the time they’ve finally pulled into the lot, Mitch’s short finger nails have dug into the flesh of his palm. 

 

He doesn’t want to turn towards Auston, but he can see him looking at him out of the corner of his eye. 

 

“I, uh, called someone,” Auston says, quiet and cautious, like he’s worried about Mitch running off. “It’s only Rich, but he wanted to talk to you.”

 

Mitch clenches his jaw, and turns his head the other way completely. He likes Rich. Nice guy, cute kids, but shit.

 

“What’d you tell him?” Mitch asks. His voice is pretty much drained of any emotion. If he had any energy at all, he’d probably be yelling right now.

 

“You weren’t feeling so hot,” Auston says. He sounds guilty, and Mitch thinks he should. 

 

_Fucking Christ._

 

Why’d he ever get that key made, again?

 

That’s enough for Mitch because next thing he’s out of the car, and slamming the door harder than necessary. He’s walking towards the entrance and he feels like he’s burning again. He wants to punch something. Maybe Auston, but Auston’s big, and he’d let him, and that’s even worse. 

 

He hears Auston turn the car off beside him and get out, but thankfully he keeps his distance. 

 

When Mitch reaches the door, his hand stutters. He would give anything to not go in there right now. In a bout of courage he turns back to Auston. 

 

“Dude, what the fuck?” He asks, “I told you this, and then I fucking told you I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”

 

Mitch hardly swears, unless completely amped up, or completely pissed off, Auston knows this. He’ll give him three guesses to figure out which situation this yelling is taking place for, but the first two don’t count. 

 

Auston looks at him, wincing, but he doesn’t say anything so Mitch continues on.

 

“Matthews, if you make me go in there right now, you’re not my friend anymore. I don’t care, if you’re making me do this, you don’t give a shit about what I care about.”

 

Auston pushes his hair back, “Mitchy, I know you don’t want to, but you really need to go talk to him.”

 

Mitch spins, exasperated. “What? So you really don’t give a shit?” He asks, his voice cracking. 

 

Auston frowns and steps towards him again, “I care, like so much, about you, Mitchy. That’s why I want you to do this. I hate seeing you like that, Marns.”

 

“Fuck you, Matty,” he says, and then he sniffs and wipes at his eyes. He’s not sure when he started to cry, or why he even started to cry, but there’s hot tears rolling down his cheeks and he can’t stop it. “Fuck you.”

 

He wants to say it again, but then he’s being pulled into Auston’s arms, pressing his face against his chest. 

 

“I know you’re scared, Mitchy, but I’ll be waiting in the lobby for you,” Auston says. “And then we can go home, and we can watch more of those weird videos.”

 

Mitch lets out a tiny squeak of laughter and steps back. He wipes his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, ignoring anything he remembers his mother telling him during his childhood, and nods. 

 

“I’m still pissed.” He says.

 

Auston nods at him, and reaches behind him to open the door. “That’s alright, Mitch. As long as you’re pissed and safe.”

 

 

—

 

 

Rich shakes their hands when they step in the lobby, then he requests Mitch follow him back to one of the trainer’s rooms. 

 

Mitch takes a seat on the observation table and balls the extra fabric of his sleeves back up again. It makes everything feel tighter, and that’s exactly what he needs. 

 

Rich starts with simple questions about how he’s been feeling lately. He checks him over like a doctor would with little tests, then he pulls out a clipboard. 

 

“Alright, I’m not a counsellor, or a psychologist, but this could lead us in the right direction to start, alright?” He says, and Mitch nods. 

 

He’s looking anywhere besides Rich while he answers the questions. 

 

No, he’s never been to counselling. 

 

No, he hasn’t seen any mental health professionals before. 

 

His diet is as good as it’ll ever be, but he could probably sub in more proteins. 

 

His sleep habits are fine. 

 

Rich stops him there. 

 

“When Auston called me, he said you guys were sitting on your bathroom floor because you had just gotten sick. I asked if he thought it was maybe the flu or food poisoning, but he said you slept some pretty intense hours too—“

 

“I’m a hockey player,” Mitch says, “I’m always tired.”

 

He still refused to meet Rich’s eyes, instead staring at the painting on the wall. It looked like the kind of thing Naz would get a hard on over. All trees and nature. He wouldn’t be surprised if Naz was the one who brought it here in the first place. 

 

“I get that, Marns, but I’m not sure almost twenty hours of sleep is doing any good to your body. You’re actually putting yourself at a higher risk of diabetes, heart disease or a stroke in the future. If habits like this keep up, the consequences could be deadly.”

 

Mitch chewed on his bottom lip, before finally turning to look at Rich who was already staring back. 

 

“Auston said you said it’s like waves. Why don’t you tell me more about that?”

 

Mitch shrugs and looks back down to his hands in his lap.

 

“It does,” he says, “never know when it’s going to happen, it just does.”

 

“What happens?” Rich pushes.

 

“I get tired, and feel sick. I feel like an empty battery that needs to be recharged.”

 

Mitch can hear Rich’s pen clacking against the clip board while he writes down notes. Something about that makes this feel so much bigger. 

 

“Anything else? Any patterns? I know you said it just happens, but does it happen in a certain month? Or a certain time of the year?”

 

Mitch sighs, heavy and deep. He wants to be at home. He kind of wishes Auston hadn’t been such a worrywart and hadn’t come to check up on him in the first place. That would make this whole situation so much easier. 

 

“It’s usually in the winter,” he says instead. “Late December, early January. In high school it was always a little before my first exams of the semester.”

 

There’s the clacking of the pen again. 

 

Then there’s the adding ticking of the clock on the wall, Mitch refuses to look at. 

 

Next comes his own breathing. It sounds like he can hear the air make it’s way to his lungs, then back out again. 

 

Rich is talking to him, he can make that out, but he can’t really make out any of the words being said to him. He wants to go home. He wants Auston to drive him home. He wants to be home, and he wants to crawl under his comforter and emerge a different person tomorrow. He wants to be a different person. He wants.

 

He wants. 

 

He wants. 

 

He wants to be anywhere but here.

 

“Can I go?” He asks, interrupting Rich. He finally looks at the other man, and sees the bags under his eyes. He must get tired dealing with the team. 

 

Rich stands and nods, so Mitch slides off the table. 

 

He pats him on the back and walks Mitch back out. 

 

“I’m going to sent up an appointment with a psychiatrist, alright, Marns?”

 

Before Mitch can object, he continues.

 

“Just from my personal opinion it sounds like seasonal affective disorder. My daughter has it, and before we knew what was happening, it was scary. We would watch her turn to nothing in the winters, she was unhappy, always asleep, she wasn’t eating.” He said, and he looked sad, so Mitch nodded. “A lot of people care about you, Mitch. I know you probably don’t want anything to do with this, but we all just want you to be happy and healthy, alright?”

 

Mitch nods again and tucks his hands in his pockets. He’s staring at the ground now, so Rich pats him on the shoulder once more. 

 

“And don’t be mad at Auston. I heard you guys fighting outside. He did the right thing bringing you here. He cares a lot.”

 

“Yeah, thanks,” Mitch says, before giving him a tiny wave. 

 

Auston is sitting in one of the lounge chairs, cup by his feet, phone in his hand. When he sees Mitch, he smiles wide and stands. He gives a quick nod to Rich over his shoulder and heads towards the door, Mitch following. 

 

The walk back to the car is silent. Mitch still feels like he’s a swirl of everything. He wants to put his feet on the ground, but he’s not sure where that is anymore. 

 

When Auston is pulling back out of the lot, Mitch catches a glance of the time. It was almost seven. Another day lost. 

 

That was another thing with this—thing. Whatever it was. After a day of snoozing, he’d wake up near the end of it, and feel guilty about all the time he lost. Sometimes it made him cry out of frustration, but he decides that Auston seeing him cry once already today was probably good enough for the next twenty to twenty five years. Except, now he felt his eyes getting wet. He wipes his eyes again and takes a deep breath, urging himself to calm down. He sees Auston look at him.

 

“Don’t,” he says.

 

“Mitch, I wasn’t going to—“ Auston starts.

 

“Yes you were,” Mitch says, “so don’t. I just want to go home.”

 

Auston just clears his throat, and keeps on. He lets Mitch flick on the radio, and Mitch allows himself drift off to today’s top 40 hits. 

 

Auston nudges him awake when they get home, again. He holds his hand while they walk to the elevator, and carries the full cup of now cold hot chocolate in the other. 

 

He helps him pull off his jacket at the door, and Mitch turns to look at him.

 

“Are you leaving?” He asks, voice small.

 

“Do you want me to?” Auston asks instead. 

 

“I don’t know, “ Mitch says, honestly. He twiddles his thumbs, then looks at Auston. “I just don’t think I want to be alone.”

 

Auston softens at that, and kicks off his shoes, lining them beside Mitch’s. Mitch watches from the doorway of the foyer, tucking his hands in the pouch of Auston’s hoodie. He really hopes that by this point, Auston is never going to get this sweater back. 

 

When Auston’s stripped back down to his sweater and jeans, Mitch turns and walks back into the living room. He grabs the gatorade, as well as his laptop and heads back to his room, Auston following him the whole time. 

 

He kicks off the sweats before he crawls back into bed, and looks up to see Auston pulling on some workout shorts that never fit Mitch quite right in the first place. 

 

He crawls in the place next to Mitch and looks at him, “you’d better not turn the AC back on, or else I think I might freeze to death.”

 

Mitch laughs a little at that, and shrugs. He tucks a pillow behind him, and stays sat up against the headboard. 

 

Auston nudges him with his elbow as he opens the laptop, the woman’s voice comes to life, this time explaining honey. 

 

Mitch looks over when Auston says, “I think you should probably turn on your phone, Mitchy. Marty has been texting me all day asking if I was with you. I think he’s worried about you too. 

 

Mitch thinks back to yesterday, when Matt had seen him just out of the shower, dazed, skin burning red. He hated making people worry, but that’s all he seemed to be doing these days. 

 

He grabs his phone from the nightstand, and holds the power button, urging it on. On his side, Auston fiddles with the laptop. Automatically, his phone is bombarded with notifications. Likes on instagram, dm’s on twitter, texts from certain worried teammates, as well as many missed calls, from both Auston and Matt. 

 

He scrolls through Matt and his’ conversation, most of the messages asking if he’s alright, and urging him to pick up the phone. Mitch feels guilty again, so he shoots him off a quick text. 

 

_i’m ok. auston is here._

 

It takes Matt less than ten seconds to respond. 

 

**whats up kid???**

 

_ill call u tmr ok?_

 

He takes longer to respond this time, like he’s thinking about calling Mitch himself, but instead Mitch’s phone vibrates twice more. 

 

**take care of yourself, marns**

 

**we all care about you.**

 

That seems like enough for Mitch, so he sets a reminder to call Matt tomorrow and puts his phone back on his nightstand. When he looks back at Auston, there’s a woman pouring _something_ into what looks to be a rubber cake pan. 

 

“Uh, Aus?” He asks, watching the video. 

 

“It’s soap!” Auston says, turning to look at him, with a smile. 

 

Mitch grins, “alright, Aus.”

 

 

—

 

 

They watched this woman make soap for awhile, then Auston looked up her website, and he and Mitch picked out their favourites, and bought a couple bars of each. 

 

It was getting late, and Auston looked tired, Mitch could tell. He closes his laptop and slips out of bed, bringing it with him across the room to charge it by the other outlet, while Auston slips further under the covers behind him. 

 

Mitch strips out of the hoodie before crawling under the covers with it. He’s always run hot, and now that he’s bed with a desert boy, body heat will only be good for one of them.

 

He turns on his side, and even with the lights off he can see Auston watching him, this time Mitch doesn’t mind staring back. 

 

“Thank you,” he says, almost a whisper. “I’m sorry I yelled earlier, but I really was scared,” he admits. 

 

Auston reaches forward to toss a lazy arm over Mitch’s hip, kind of a grounding, a silent ‘don’t run away from me again’.

 

“It’s alright to be scared, Marns,” he says, matching Mitch’s volume. “You just have to remember you’ve got a full team behind you.”

 

Mitch nods, not sure what to say next, so Auston pulls him close, and Mitch lets his head fall on Auston’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. 

 

“Alright, Mitch, tomorrow I say we get up early and go watch the sun rise.”

 

Mitch laughs quietly, “what made you a morning person?” He asks. 

 

Auston makes a noise, so Mitch glances up at him. 

 

“I know you like the sun, and I’d do anything to make you smile.”

 

To that, Mitch only blushes a furious red, and pushes his face back into Auston’s chest, a deep rumbling laugh their music for the night. 

 

 

**EPILOGUE**

****

****

 

His therapist is a nice woman called Laura Gosk. She has dark brown hair, big glasses and a wide smile. Mitch likes her immediately. 

 

He set up an appointment with her after the advice of the psychiatrist, who also asked Mitch to insert vitamin d supplements into his diet as well, then they could move on from there in prescribing anti-depressants if needed. She tells Mitch there’s nothing wrong with taking anti-depressants, and she’s proud of him from coming for help, it’s not easy, she says. 

 

As well as the supplements and the therapist, he picks up a light box. Apparently they’re supposed to help people with seasonal affective disorder. 

 

Oh yes, that’s what he was diagnosed with. Seasonal affective disorder, like Rich thought.

 

Mitch was literally diagnosed as a solar powered human, which makes him laguh. 

 

When he calls to tell Matt—who specifically requested to be kept up to date, after learning about Mitch’s depression spells—this, the man laughs so loud on the other end Mitch has to pull the phone away from his ear. 

 

“Dude, what the fuck?” Mitch asks.

 

“Mitchy, buddy,” he says, “I just think it’s funny how your official diagnosis was ’S.A.D.’, like what an acronym.”

 

Mitch thinks about it, then he’s laughing too. “Yeah I guess that sure is something.”

 

—

 

 

His mom cries when he calls to tell her, and then she shows up at his apartment a little later, and they’re both crying again. 

 

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she says, pulling him into a hug. She pushes her fingers through his hair in the comforting way she used to when he was sick. 

 

“I wish… I wish you would have told me,” she continues. “I wish you would have told me, so we could have been supporting you this whole time. This is an awful thing to be alone for.”

 

“It’s okay—“ he starts.

 

“It’s not okay, Mitch. I’m your mother, I’m supposed to be protecting you from these kinds of things.”

 

He can tell she’s crying again, so he pulls her closer. 

 

“It’s not your fault, okay? I didn’t tell anyone,” he says, and before she can argue he continues, “I tried to hide it. Don’t blame yourself from something I never told you.”

 

She nods against his shoulder, and pulls back to pull the tissue out of her pocket and swipe at her eyes. 

 

“Thank Auston, if anything,” he says, a small smile on his lips, “he’s the one who got this whole treatment thing started.”

 

She looks like she’s going to cry again, but takes a deep breath and nods instead. 

 

“Invite him for dinner soon, okay?”

 

 

—

 

Auston comes to all his appointments with him, waiting for him in the waiting room, and opening his arms to Mitch after a specifically hard week. 

 

Auston’s been really good, sticking by Mitch’s side through the whole thing.

 

In fact, he really hasn’t left the house since Mitch asked him to stay the night. 

 

They went back to his place after a game once, and Auston just packed a bag of what he considered necessities instead. Mitch quickly vetoed the Harambe sweater, but insisted he bring more hoodies so that Mitch could snag one for quiet late nights and those lazy early mornings. 

 

It was nice, living with someone else. They woke each other up, made coffee, ate meals together. 

 

Mitch didn’t know how lonely his apartment felt, until it was full, with him and Auston laughing loud andflipping pancakes a couple months later on a day off. 

 

They liked to hang out, that’s what best friends do. 

 

Sometimes, though, they get too much for each other. 

 

In these instances, Auston’ll stay late after practice and put his extra energy into skating and working out, listening to the quick reminder from Mitch to not push himself too hard. 

 

When Mitch needs space, he’ll head over to Matt and Syd’s place. They’re more than welcoming to let him hang out on their couch for a couple hours, and listen to Mitch rant if he needs to, Syd offering very viable fixes to their issues. When they send him back out the door, she hugs him and tells him not to let it get to him. Every couple has bumps in the road. 

 

That’s the word that catches him. 

 

_Couple_.

 

He supposes the two of them really are like a couple. 

 

Then he remembers what Laura told him, and figures this is a topic he should bring to light soon. 

 

 

—

 

“Hey, we’re like a thing… right?” He asks. 

 

His head is on Auston’s thigh while he scrolls through instagram. Mitch on the other hand had been picking bigger holes in his jeans. By now they’ve both decided leather couches are terrible, and it needs to be replaced, but that’s not the point, because Auston says;

 

“Yeah, I guess we are.”

 

So Mitch sits up, leaning back on his heels so he can face Auston. He’s wearing a wide smile.

 

“Okay, so this is like, great, alright.” Mitch says, but Auston gets that he’s going to add, because he motions for Mitch to continue on. 

 

“I like you, a lot, actually, and I have before you came in here and acted like some prince charming,” he says, to which Auston smirks, “but, that’s the thing. You came in here, and you pushed me in the right direction, but you didn’t save me, Auston. Only I can save me, but I really needed you to give me that extra push. That push—which I’m really thankful for, now, by the way—and your words really realized that this could be pulling down more than just me. Laura and you have been helping me a lot towards recovery and being able to live the best life I can, I just… I want you to remember that this is my journey, and now that we’re boyfriends or whatever, I don’t want you to baby me. These are steps I need to take myself, y’know?”

 

By the end of his spiel, Mitch’s fingers are all twisted up together, and now he gnaws his lip as he waits for Auston’s response. 

 

“As your boyfriend,” he starts, grabbing one of Mitch’s hands to hold and probably keep him from breaking a finger, twisting them together like that. “I promise to only strive to help you achieve your goals in living the best life possible. Boyfriend or not, I will always support you, Mitchy. That’s what best friends do.” 

 

Mitch smiles and opens his mouth to speak, but Auston cuts him off first. 

 

“And if you ever think I get too much, just let me know, and I promise I’ll step off.”

 

There’s a beat of silence, then Mitch speaks again. 

 

“So, can we just kiss now?”

 

“Yeah, Marns. We can do that.” 

 

Then Mitch is surging forward, teeth clacking against Auston’s because of how wide the two of them are smiling. It’s not a perfect kiss, but Mitch is sure they’ll have plenty of time to practice. 

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGERS/WARNINGS: character portrays depressive behaviour, character is seen/described as queasy/nauseated, and is described dry heaving, but there is no vomiting, character is described getting mental aid. 
> 
> I'm not sure if any of these are much, but it's good to be safe, rather than sorry, right?
> 
> Not seen is:  
> ☞ Matt hugging Mitch tight when he tells him, followed by a speech about how he'll always have his phone on if anything ever happens. 
> 
> ☞ Mitch and Zach going for that lunch, and Mitch decides to tell Zach, and Zach is the one who recommends Laura in the first place! He also thanks Mitch for trusting him, so much, and Mitch's heart swells at the smile on Zach's face.
> 
> ☞ Mitch lounging in the living room, playing COD with the boys, just sitting at Auston's feet, chilling in the light of the light box
> 
> ☞ Mitch and Laura playing cards for the first couple sessions while he tries to ease up to her. What Zach doesn't tell him is that she'll really put him in a run for his chips. 
> 
> ☞ After dinner with his family, while Mitch washes the dishes, his mom pulls Auston onto the porch and really, really thanks him for being such a good guy, and for helping her son when she couldn't. She probably cries again and Mitch has to interrupt to hug her again. She's just a mom and she's worried. 
> 
> ☞ Mitch and Auston talking late at night about maybe getting a dog--but they'd have to move for that--even though they're paying for two apartments at this point when they kind of only need one.  
> ☞ they get an emotional support dog, who is big and goofy and his name is Rufus and they start a competition with Naz to see who can get the most followers on their pet's instagram.
> 
> ☞ Mitch learns to talk about his issues and ask for help. 
> 
> ☞ Mitch is okay.
> 
> This is the lovely sandwich video!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HS_hnmHWEcg
> 
> And here's some satisfying soaps  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8hZhT0lzo1o
> 
> Maybe I'll take this off anon in the future, but I'm not sure yet. This is my first hockey rpf so I guess I just want to see how it blows over.


End file.
